Artifice And Illusion
by Gannet
Summary: Mrs. Weasley wants to marry her daughter to a wealthy Pureblood, but no careful planning can achieve what all the participants are loathe to accomplish... HGDM, HGLM, DMGW, RWRos, NBSS. Bits and parts borrowed from Jane Austen.
1. Exposition And Inhibitions

**Artifice And Illusion**

Exposition and inhibitions

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a recently divorced Pureblood in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a new wife.

However little known the feelings or views of such a wizard may be on his first entering a neighbourhood, this truth is so well fixed in the minds of the surrounding families, that he is considered as the rightful property of some one or other of nearby matrons seeking to marry off their offspring.

Such a wizard had recently rented Wildmane Hall, a stately mansion within close Apparating distance of Ottery Saint-Catchpole, together with an old friend of his, a Mr. Snape, and Mrs. Weasley interpreted this a sign from the powers above that the time had come to marry off one of her sons – she had so many, and none of them had a dowry! She would not press the Fates, of course, but maybe some well-placed maternal advice – some judiciously organised ball – some hints in the neighbourhood, to the effect that the new tenant's heart had already been captured – the possibilities were endless.

A story beginning under such auspicious beginnings would no doubt thrive in further descriptions of the courting taking place between one dashing young red-haired wizard, and a wiser, elder blond wizard; how circumstance, and a mother, brought them together; how misunderstandings emerged, and were solved with the timely intervention of a well-phrased letter; how an entire division of dashing young Aurors interrupted into the scene and danced, seduced and eloped; how the dark, robed figure of one Severus Snape played a crucial role in the heart of some witty young Weasley with more sarcasm than income.

Such would have indeed been the stream of the respectable matron's thoughts, in the privacy of her kitchen, with only the cries of the family ghoul to disturb her, if either slash or Mpreg had been listed among the wishes of this story's commanditaire. Sadly, this is not the case; and the cute, lively little bunny shall therefore have to be slaughtered in a most inhuman fashion – which is, after all, well deserved, as rabbits are no humans.

You need not flee away in distress, dear reader. If the mistress of the Burrow did not think of marrying her sons away, she did consider the new neighbour as a worthy prospect for her one daughter, who did deserve to be kept in a manner she would soon grow accustomed to, and therefore needed a wealthy spouse. What might have passed as an incoherence within the beginning of the story is therefore nothing more than an artifice on the authors' part to draw attention to her humble tale, and to draw a parallel between their version of Mrs Weasley and some other, better, more widely read story.

Once the plan was hatched, the matriarch didn't lose any time to put it into action. Mr. Weasley was dispatched to Wildmane Hall, under strict orders not to come back without a promise to visit back from the coveted Pureblood. Ginny was called forward, groomed and generally instructed how to behave and speak. And, of course, preparations were made for the social niceties that certainly were to take place shortly in Ottery Saint-Catchpole.

While the respectable Mrs Wealey bustled around, filled with the importance of her task, a regiment of dashing young Aurors took their quarters in the village of Ottery Saint Catchpole. Why they came here is a very pertinent question indeed; maybe the Minister deemed fit to store them far away from London and the potential danger it could represent to them, or to him, as Aurors are often reputed to threaten the very power that armed them. Or perhaps the author just seized this large plot device to station other potential protagonists close to where the action takes place. This you shall never know, which is all for the best, as knowing things is not your place, you are after all only the reader.

The regiment was not all that large, and, within it, several figures stood out in all their might above their companions. Harry Potter is of course the first that comes to mind – young, rich, famous, and reputed to be fearless in combat, as he had demonstrated twice in the past, once aged 12 months, and once at the more respectable age of 18 years. The lad bore a fierce scar on his forehead, which prompted his admirers to dub him "The Marked One", and his enemies, more prosaically, "Scarface", a nickname that passed very well amongst the Muggleborn population, for some reason this Pureblooded author cannot quite fathom. His fortune was discussed in every circle; his good looks, drooled upon, or disparaged, depending on what side the speaker was on, and on their age and gender too. His decision to enter the Aurory had been much commented on; and no one, not even his staunchest enemy, would have let go of an occasion to get a glimpse of his lithe silhouette under the red-striped uniform.

In relative anonymity compared to our Man Who Lived Twice, his long time foe and recent ally Draco Malfoy liked to think of himself as the finest Pureblood in the regiment. He was after all tall, blond, with shapely legs and positively gorgeous eyebrows; if the world wasn't kneeling before him is silent worship, the fault lay upon the world, without a shadow of doubt. This self-centeredness, coupled with what he liked to think of as an air of detached superiority, which came across to the average onlooker as a very cute pout, endeared him to our third Auror protagonist, Hermione Granger.

Now among the three, Hermione was by far the quietest. No drinking matches for her, no wizarding duels the following morning, before either had had quite enough time to sober up. No, she showed the same calculating attitude she had while researching and creating the spell that annihilated the late Dark Lord. With a few lapses in judgment, Potter liked to claim, like the one that led her to share the (tasteful green and black) bed linen of a Draco Malfoy. The hero of the wizarding world could never quite accept the strange noises that arose from their shared bedchamber at night. But, lapse in judgment or not, they both had very contented smiles on their faces in the morning, even before coffee was served, a tell-tale sign that something utterly indescribable in a smutfree fic was taking place between the two of them, to their mutual satisfaction.

Young Ron Weasley, as you may have noticed, did not figure among the members of the Auroring regiment – that would be because his family's fortune was too small to allow him to take such a post. He had therefore been dispatched to Hogsmeade to an old friend of Mrs. Weasley's to instruct her ward in basic magical skills, dancing, latin and other social graces the lad might need when he entered school. To his despair, he was not to be in the Burrow when his friends arrived to Ottery, and he would miss them by barely a day; but such are the misfortunes of the newly employed, and he took consolation in the knowledge that they could always Floo, or Apparate, or Portkey should the need arise.

And thus may our plot commence.

A/N: This was submitted to the HPsmutfree ficexchange on Livejournal, as a gift for Just A Penniless Writer. It is thus finished, and shall be posted here at the rhythm of one chapter per day. Reviews are more than welcome.


	2. Developements And Complications

**Developments and Complications. **

Ron had arrived to his destination without much trouble, where he was greeted by the housekeeper, in the absence of the mistress of the house; he soon discovered that his pupil was of good disposition, if not exceptionally talented, and he did his best to guide the young wizard in his learning.

One day, as the improvised teacher was wandering alone in the countryside, (we shall not delve into why on earth he was wandering in the countryside during school hours) he caught a glimpse of a woman of a broom. She was tall, wore a large black coat… and, just as she was about to pass him, the broom tilted to the side on its own volition and she fell downwards.

Ron rushed to the rescue, but arrived too late – she was already on the ground. What arrived after that, I scarcely need to describe; if you don't know the ending of this peculiar plot twist, then you should guess that the mysterious tall figure fell in love with the reflective, quiet redhead; that the feeling grew to become mutual, and that arson, failed attempts at marriage, hidden bigamy and desperate escapes did not suffice to prevent their sharing the quiet joys of hymen from the end of the story onwards.

Back in the Burrow, Mrs. Weasley had not remained idle. Nice Mr. Malfoy, as she liked to call him, had returned the initial visit; he obviously been charmed by the grace and youth of her daughter, to the extend that he had decided to organise a ball in Ottery. Everything was indeed going for the best, and the only thing that bothered Mrs. Weasley – if you can call it bothering, it was more of a slight annoyance – was the continued presence of Mr. Snape. This man, despite his unpleasantness, seemed to be a close friend of Mr. Malfoy's; the latter had invited him to stay at Wildmane Hall for as long as he chose. He was arrogant, and pretentious; lacked every form of social grace, and never missed an occasion to tell the busy matron exactly how little he thought of her and hers; and she really wouldn't want anything to do with him at all were he not a friend of dear, nice Mr. Malfoy. But, as matters stood, she had to stay polite to him, and endure his sarcastic barbs without responding.

The day of the ball arrived before the different members of the Weasley household had time to realise how much time had elapsed – to a mere reader, the occurrence would indeed come within a simple paragraph of its being announced. This story is after all not meant for the faint of heart, nor for those who cannot take quick action changes.

It was, for all those concerned, a success. Mr. Malfoy invited young Ginevra to no less than two dances; nothing and no one could stop Mrs. Weasley from gloating over that, especially as Auror Malfoy had also condescended to dance with her daughter, albeit only once, which certainly could be taken as a sure sign that her daughter's future son-in-law would appreciate counting her as a member of his family.

As for her, Auror Granger had approached the ball with the keen interest of a witch who has no mother to guide her in the finer recesses of the wizarding world – the discerning reader will translate that to her needing to find herself a husband by her own means.

Her resources were not scarce. She had more wits than all the rest of Hogwarts put together, and no one had ever complained about her looks. She knew how to combine those attributes, and to make herself both charming and useful to whomever she deemed worthy of becoming prey to her viles. The method – a ruthless mixture of small favours, gentle chatter and timely remarks – might be thought be thought unsubtle by some, but we pray our reader remember she had not been brought up in the ways of the wizarding world, and had been launched in their world ignoring their customs. She was learning, thought – she had soon dismissed Harry as none too useful to her goals, and had succeeded in securing the younger Malfoy's graces.

This evening brought another idea to her resourceful mind. Draco was handsome enough, and young, dashing, with very nice legs, which was not to be disregarded; but his very youth was a source of worries to her. He did not have any money other than their Auror's pay; no fix home out of the barracks they both dwelled in. His prospects were bright, that much stood fest; but, should she marry him, how long would she have to wait before she had free reign over the Malfoy estates and income? Last but not least, the young wizard's charms, abundant as they were, remained limited, for his hair was made beautiful by the artificial addictions of gel alone, and his mane was therefore nothing more than an illusion, the reality being, in contrast, sticky and brisk. In short, he was not the sort of wizard a girl of such rational disposition as Hermione could wish as a life-long partner.

She was therefore keeping her eyes wide open for a manly specimen of a prospective husband, such as balls are reputed to offer scores of. As it happens, she didn't need to stay on the look-out for very long before she spotted the wizard of her choice.

A witch's tastes, you see, are set early in life. Some like Hufflepuffs for their loyalty; others, Ravenclaw for their intellect and corresponding high salaries. But our Hermione had known for a long time that she would not have anyone but a Slytherin : their cunning and general air of malignant haughtiness had a certain something that appealed to her. It was after all very gratifying to play with their little snake. And, among the Slytherin, whom should she choose but a Malfoy – they were rich, and proud, and so very manipulate it was a positive delight to outmanoeuvre them – it kept one's intellect awake.

She had therefore set her cap on Draco, and thought herself quite fortunate – not all Malfoys had those long curvy eyebrows, after all.

Until she saw his father.

Lucius she knew to be as keenly manipulative as his son, if not more; he had, it is true, the slight drawback of having been a Death Eater, and was therefore banned from public employment; but his bank account in Gringotts alone, let alone what he may or may not have in offshore Goblin banks, did more than make up for that little inconvenience. And, last but not least, his long hair hung loose on his shoulders, free of anything resembling gel, a few rare grey streaks enhancing the golden stream of light that framed the supple eyebrows Draco had inherited.

She had been right about needing a Malfoy. She had only got the wrong Malfoy.

But even that could be mended. She patiently waited until he finished his second dance with the Weasley chit, then she sharply directed Draco to the redhead – and she walked up to Lucius herself. She smiled; he bowed – she held out her hand, and he clasped it. They talked, and talked some more, as neither lacked the ability to make subtle inquiries in the other's character, while maintaining a façade of polite conversation. What they found out pleased them both, certainly, for they did not part all evening long – they danced once and then retired to a small corner for some more conversation. This discreet aparté might have lasted longer had a dishevelled Draco not joined them shortly before midnight, his hair glistening more than ever from the several layers of gel, his face less composed than usual. He beckoned Hermione to follow him outside, to come back to their barracks; and she felt like accepting to follow him. After all, she really shouldn't spend too long with Lucius on their very first date, it was never good to sound too pushy when one was after a man's wallet.

And thus, dear reader, does this act come to an end. Ron was at the moment still lovesick, dreaming of his mysterious Rosmerta; Harry, not having found a partner for the ball, had stared at his own reflection in the large mirror all night long, pleased by the sight it offered; and Hermione had disappeared in the shadows, whispering animatedly to a young, blond wizard. Only Lucius remained behind, a smile on his lips, as he absent-mindedly listened to Mrs. Weasley's detailed thanks.


	3. Elopements And Negociations

**Elopements and Negotiations**

What words our two protagonists exchanged in the darkness you shall never learn, dear reader. What is relevant to our story is not, however, the exact twists and turns their conversation took, but what came out of it; and that the entire wizarding world was soon to become acquainted with.

They fled the ball and its participants in haste, a couple among others; their friends had wished them a good night, and pictured what they might be doing in their shared bed with some wistfulness; their enemies had seized the opportunity to condemn them both, and the fact that they shouldn't be together, and the fact that they weren't even married – incoherence is after all a well-spread human trait. All in all, their departure was perceived as one single event.

After their conversation, however, they were most definitely not an item any more. In fact, their families, and friends, and fellow Aurors would never, never again think of them as one single element.

They had broken up, you see, and broken up in the most definitive way there is, by common consent. Irrational rows can be made up; but the quiet consideration and reasonable assessment of the state of their relationship was not of that order.

Hermione had come to the realisation that she lost her time with him. He was an agreeable companion, and a decent lover; but she would always find him lacking now that she had seen the original. She and Draco both knew that their arrangement was a provisory one, meant to annoy Harry, who was getting too self-centered even for Hermione's tastes; they did enjoy each other's company and body, but that was to end as soon as one of them found another source of interest, as had just happened to Hermione.

And Draco – well, Draco had fallen in love that night, as only young men can. Totally, completely, hopelessly, adverbially in love – head over heels – as close to composing woeful ballads to his mistress' eyebrow as he was to getting a new mistress, and that, believe me, was very close indeed – barely a paragraph.

It had not escaped your attention that Draco and Ginevra had been left alone during the ball. Silent contemplation had lead to banter, which in turn had left place to sexually charged contemplation. They were young; they were more naïve than either of them thought they were; both held a firm interest in the finer specimen of the opposite sex; and they both deserved to be called handsome.

What was to follow inevitably followed. Right after the friendly break-up, Draco went straight to the Burrow, where a charming young woman was waiting for him to climb up her balcony to ease flowery words in her ear. They could sleep Ginny's own bedchamber, in her parents' house – Silencing Charms are there to be made use of, after all – and elopement would follow early the next morning. All was well and fine, they soon agreed on everything, and spend the time they had left gently kissing, as the rating of this story prevents anything worse, or better, depending on your own point of view.

Either way, Draco was soon off to collect his belongings from the Auror barracks, his departure giving the author a good occasion to shift the point of view within the narrative.

The following morning, Lucius woke up feeling happy. Now this was no common occurrence since his divorce – he missed the weigh of another body close to his own on the mattress, the shared warmth under the covers, and the prospect of a bright new day usefully spent spreading evil in the world with a beautiful, evil witch at his side.

But the ball had gone unexpectedly well the day before. The Weasley matriarch had seemed contented with little effort on his part; the younger Weasley had conveniently disappeared early on, and a… delightful young woman had made herself known to him instead.

He was aware that she was nothing but a Mudblood; and a penniless one to boot. But – and this was an important but – she had potential, he could feel it. A great potential. Half a lifetime of serving as the Dark Lord's chief recruiter had taught him to tell which young people would grow into powerful individuals, if nothing else. She would need some guidance, that's to be sure; perhaps the benefit of some experience… And in a matter of decades, years perhaps, she would become a force to be reckoned with, perhaps The Major Force of the wizarding world… Oh, she would do it with forms, that is to be sure; she would get rightfully elected by the Wizengamot, just Avada'ing her opponents would never do. But the result would be there.

Which brought the interesting question of how he would position himself in that new order. The only sensible thing to do was to place himself on her side, in a way that forced her to acknowledge his support – so as to make his claim to the spoils of victory fully justified. Marriage seemed an agreeable course of events… She was too powerful for him to become anything else than the lesser partner in their union, but then he was strong enough, and manipulative enough, to deal with that. His life with Narcissa had taught him some very valuable lessons, after all. Yes, he would start planning a wedding soon…

An owl interrupted this agreeable train of thought.

An owl from his son.

Announcing the boy's elopement.

Not his marriage, mind you – though marrying a Weasley already was something truly horrendous, and made him deserve being disinherited on its own right. No, he had just disappeared with the girl; he had believed she would make an honest man out of him, and followed her.

Words are insufficient to describe his reaction to his son's letter. Let us therefore read said letter ourselves, laconic as it is –

_Dear Father, _

_I have met my True Love at last. She is better than a stable boy, better than pirate captain, better than a mysterious warrior even. _

_I have left the Auror barracks to live with her. _

_Don't bother disinheriting me, we'll live out of love and fresh water anyway. _

_Love, _

_Draco_

This part of the story could well have ended in bloodshed. Draco, had the author followed the example of many a reputed writer, would have faked poisoning himself to garner sympathy from his angry father; Ginevra, upon discovering her lover apparently dead, would have taken her own life, incapable as she was of living without those gorgeous eyebrows. Draco waking up to see the lifeless corpse of his true love, would have followed suit, thus provoking the end of two reputed Pureblood houses.

But of this we shall have none – we are indeed far too skilled a storyteller to resort to such cheap theatrics. Not one drop of blood is therefore to be spilled in the entire fic, apart perhaps from a few tiny droplets, scratched away from a wizard's back by his mistress in the throes of shared passion; but even that we shall not describe, tied up as we are in the uncomfortable position of smutfree writers.

Deaths or no deaths, Lucius was still angry, at his son for choosing such a consort, and at the Weasley girl for not marrying Draco. At the Weasleys', tantrums were held in a similar fashion, by Molly, who refused to try to understand why on earth her daughter could have chosen the penniless son when the wealthy father was to be had, and by Arthur, who could not stand to see his wife upset and who missed his daughter already. In short, the situation seemed hopeless to all those concerned, except perhaps for the two lovebirds, who chose to remain blissfully unaware of the tempest they had provoked in the parental hearts and hearths.

This, my dear reader, is a very uncomfortable point to end a third chapter on, and you will have to concede that the talented storyteller has indeed managed to keep looming suspense to the very conclusion of her tale, however fishy it might otherwise seem.


	4. Endings And Epilogue

**Endings and Epilogue**

There is the part when the tall, dark, looming figure I have introduced and spoken about from time to time in the preceding chapters comes into the spotlight – yes, he was there for a reason, not just for his pure ornamental value, though I do concede that this value is considerable, at least to some of us.

Severus had deep, important motives to appear in this story.

You see, he had secretly been in love with Narcissa since they were both in Hogwarts – or should I say, all three, as Lucius was never very far away from her. He cherished and admired the blonde witch from afar, leaving her small tokens of his love – a tiny bottled flask of an elixir or other, delicate jars encapsulating the beautiful bodies of dead animals, or even ribbons of snakeskin charmed to bring luck or love for the giver of the gift. He might eventually have got round to asking her out for an afternoon in Hogsmeade, perhaps even for, who knows, a dinner together? But Lucius was there, and was quicker than him. Before he could admit to himself how important Narcissa was to him, she was happily married and already pregnant with Draco. Long, embittered years had followed – he had no consolation but to care over Narcissa's child, as he had done repeatedly over the years.

Their divorce had taken him by surprise. But years had elapsed since he was a schoolboy, and he had learned his lesson – not two minutes had elapsed between the time he heard the news and his Apparation to Malfoy Manor, where a hasty yet most sincere declaration to Narcissa was issued.

But, woe begone! Severus' passion was, it seemed, doomed to remain in the shadows – for a sad looking Narcissa told him, gently but firmly, that she was not entering the marriage market again anytime soon, and that he should remain quiet and going on keeping an eye on Draco should he want to please her.

Our (secondary) hero had sought refuge with Lucius, who had never ceased to be a close friend of his, waiting for his Dulcinea to change her mind.

Draco's elopement was to change drastically this course of events.

Ginevra had failed to marry him; his name was thus now sullied and his reputation annihilated. Respectable witches with nice prospects seldom married Aurors; but they would never, never marry an Auror who had lived with another woman outside the barracks that gave a semblance of respectability to the entire profession. Lucius had not lost an instant to disinherit the lad; and Narcissa went as far as to express her displeasure to Severus in her next letter, along with a shadowed hint that perhaps he might arrange the situation? He had after all sorted the Dumbledore situation so well…

Once again, Severus was to act with the innate rapidity of the coiled rattlesnake downing on his helpless victim. A slightly shady tracing spell taught him all he needed to know about the young couple's whereabouts; a quick Apparation led him there. He waited patiently until Ginevra left their shared quarters to buy some cigarettes; he then harpooned her, glared at her with his patented teacher's stare, and ordered her to marry his ward.

Ginevra was a strong young woman. Few things ever intimidated her. But she still lacked the experienced required to resist the Snape stare-cum-voice.

She complied.

A Wizengamot member was summoned, a slightly dishevelled Draco was forcefully brought where he needed to be, and Severus quietly listened to their exchanged vows before leaving for the now more hospitable shore of his dear Narcissa's new home.

The wedding between Severus Snape and Narcissa Malfoy went unheeded by all but their close family and friends – a very private ceremony and laconic announcement in the Prophet were all the elements that could bear witness to the union, and even those bore the mark of the bridegroom's sarcastic comments, even though those of less gentle constitution did not hesitate to point out that their Potions Master had mellowed since his bride had indeed agreed to becoming his bride. Of them, we shall say no more, for their romance belongs to the kind of stories that best remains shrouded in an aura of refined mystery; where they live to this day, whether they have had children, or even whether Severus' hair is now clean, are all question we shall leave for the gentle readers to investigate themselves – if they have the courage, or foolishness, to confront several layers of protective, defensive and offensive hexes to find out.

Ginny and Draco, on the other hand, rejoiced in having their names adorn the front pages of the newspapers. They seldom left each other's side, and never quit the haughty attitude of those who believe the world owes them something. The world returned them the admiration they thought they deserved, as they were both young, handsome, and contributed to no small extend to the liveliness of Witch Weekly, the Daily Prophet and the Quibbler.

Ron was just as content as his sister and brother-in-law, in a quieter, less showy manner. He lived with Rosmerta and their adopted child, the young wizard Ron had tutored, turned out to become the eldest sibling of an extremely large family, in true Weasley style. Their hearts are said to beat at the same tempo, and they surely have the same smile and satisfied expression.

And Harry? Well, Harry was apparently doomed to remain a dedicated bachelor. At that fateful ball, he fell desperately in love with his own reflection on the wall mirror; the image he saw there, of a handsome young man – despite the scar – was more than enough to convince him that no one, dead or alive, would ever compare to himself. Naricissism was the only course of actions open to him; wanking, the only release he could ever afford. He thus went on strutting around and firing random curses to the sky, the pride of his regiment and the honour of his country, a fine example of what kind of power-wielding individuals the wizarding folk could produce. Let us suppose, for the sake of the happy ending that is to come, that it made it as happy as the others already are.

But all these romanced pairings, you may object, take us away from our main sources of concern, Hermione and Lucius. Well, it pains me to admit it – I am not allowed to write about it. The Minister has enacted several bills forbidding either journalists or plain storytellers like me to delve into her private history, thus rendering the tale of her marriage a risky one – and I am sure you agree that muckraking is not quite worth a spell in Azkhaban.

From the scarce sources open to researchers, though, it may well be supposed that their union is a happy one; and that we lose little in not knowing the exact details, as happy stories need not be told…

The Very Secret Diary of Lucius Abraxas Malfoy, age 55 3/4

_June 25th, 2006_

_Muggles killed: 0_

_Muggles tortured: 0_

_House-Elves kicked: 0_

_Probability of killing, torturing or kicking in the future: close to none, except if it is for a good cause, ie, if I kill or torture Muggles to further the welfare of House-Elves, or kick House-Elves to make Muggles feel better, or something along those lines_

_Reasons why the probability of killing, torturing, etc. is so low: acquired female partner with distasteful ideas on the management of inferior species_

_Number of shags with aforementioned female partner: 12_

_Number of gross exaggerations for today: 1_

_Number of proposals: 1 (from said female partner)_

_Number of times I accepted the proposal: 2_

_Number of gross underestimations for today: 1 /i _

Private agenda of the Minister's, June 25th, 2026

_Have minion buy flowers and chocolate for anniversary; Check for any updates to _Falsity.

**THE END**


End file.
